Transcript

Robyn Williams: For years an old friend of mine, Jeff McMullen of 60 Minutes fame, has been collecting books and donating them to Aboriginal communities far and wide. Now I’d always assumed most books would do. Jeanie Adams of Black Ink Press based in Townsville, Northern Queensland says not so. Like everyone else indigenous children need certain books, not any books and here’s why.

Jeanie Adams: The low literacy of many indigenous Australians, particularly children and young people is a key problem. It results from many factors and it links to other failures and subsequent disadvantages and also to crime. Many creative methods are being tried to improve literacy.

But learning requires motivation and that means having something you want to read. If indigenous kids don’t find themselves in books, if books have little or nothing to do with their life, if they are unlikely to find a hero to identify with, why would they want to read them? The lack of relevant books makes literacy meaningless. And, if children don’t feel a part of the society they are in, why would they want to learn the skills and values and obey the laws of that society?

So what I want to talk about is the provision of books that indigenous kids want to read. Of the books that are on the shelves of school libraries most are documentary, preoccupied with archaeology, anthropology, art and ethnology and beautiful glossy art books about Culture with a capital C. Looking for the everyday adventures of ordinary black kids, who are both heroes and villains, you will search almost in vain.

As an indigenous teenager here in Townsville said “what have books got to do with us sir, books are for whitefellas”. And if you are black and you live in the bush and you speak your own language or Aboriginal English, but every time you open a book it is about white kids living in the city using sophisticated English, where do you fit in?

If you grow up in a family where blackness is normal, you feel marginalised when all the books about indigenous people portray them as exotic and different from us. Who, you might ask, are we? In Australian books when people are white they are just people, but when they are black, their colour is part of their described identity. The implication is that white people read but black people only get read about.

If you are a modern black teenager, keen to be cool and accepted, then the books about 40,000 years of history and ‘dreamtime’ stories are to be avoided. Novels present you with huge blocks of uninterrupted text with no visual clues as to what they might reveal, so why try and where to start?

However much they want to be literate, these kids don’t want to be shown up as failing. And they are humiliated by those books they can read, which are written and illustrated for small children. These young adults’ minds are active, but there are few books which cater to their level of literacy. Where are the characters, scenes, images, stories and language that they can identify with; the complex ideas to engage their active minds and challenge them to think and imagine and understand? At this point in history while the literacy gap is so wide, they need them presented in a form that is accessible, visual and easy to read.

They need books that look cool, the right shape, that are good to hold, not too conspicuous, fit in the school bag or jean’s pocket. Families need books that can be shared with others, that grandparents can read to littlies in bed, that siblings can share with each other, that parents can quietly enjoy after the kids have gone to bed.

They need books that are poetic, rhythmic, dramatic, satisfying, books that are colourful, fascinating. They need books they can laugh and cry over together. In fact all Australians need these books. The Australian publishing industry has a case to answer here. But it is not economically rational to publish for a primarily illiterate, poor, non-book-buying population, among whom many speak their own indigenous language or non-standard English.

So, to begin to unpack the solution.

Every year we celebrate Indigenous Literacy Day, the time Australians contribute to closing the gap in literacy between indigenous people and the rest of the Australian population. Programs raise money to send books into indigenous communities. But what books? Who are the writers? Who are the illustrators? Whose stories are they?

We all know indigenous stories and story tellers are out there. There are indigenous writers developing a wonderful body of literature, autobiographies, plays and novels. Brilliant musicians, actors and film makers. There’s no shortage of indigenous visual artists whose beautiful artworks tell a story, but most grace the walls of public galleries and commercial institutions and the homes of wealthy collectors to entertain, educate and enthral whitefellas. But young indigenous readers benefit very little from these.

Meanwhile there are yarns being enjoyed in families, adventures being enjoyed by indigenous children every day all over Australia but few of these make their way into story books. What can be done to take these indigenous strengths and use them to assist the younger generations to overcome their disadvantage? One thing they can do is write and illustrate stories to publish in good books. Of course, achieving this is not simple.

I know, because I have set about to find these storytellers and artists and turn them into writers and illustrators and publish their books and put them into the hands of young readers. I asked why don’t more indigenous people write more books for their kids? Well some do of course and those that get published are precious treasures. Many though, are still hidden in boxes and bottom drawers.

And many potential authors are themselves unfamiliar with books, they lack confidence, their skills are limited, they don’t know how to start or where to go and what to do and who to trust. Some are so busy caring for their communities and families that they don’t have time, big complicated families, health problems, endless committees, forums and native title meetings.

Some have become victims of disadvantage themselves and have succumbed to mental illness, drug abuse, lack of purpose and crime.

After all, writing and especially illustrating are not usually seen as real jobs and don’t pay well enough to live on. Many indigenous people have told, written and drawn stories only to give them away, have them published by schools and universities, crown copyright taking their rights. Other careless and dishonest dealings have meant that they were taken and used without payment or acknowledgement. Consequently many don’t understand or trust the publishing industry.

Mainstream publishers would probably knock them back, especially if they are handwritten, misspelled manuscripts with little punctuation. People often don’t have computers, don’t have telephones, studios or shops to buy art materials. For some, life is in very remote locations in the bush. For some, life is in institutions.

Most publishing companies have very small children’s lists and their commitment to the bottom line means they are not keen on small niche markets or labour intensive support of their writers and illustrators, or of taking risks. What is needed is a publisher with enough resources, time and patience to work with writers and illustrators.

That is what Australia’s indigenous publishing companies and some mainstream publishers try to do. Black Ink Press is the one I am familiar with and after 12 years it is showing signs of success, but not commercial success. It’s easy enough to recognise a good book but measuring success in terms of solving social problems is difficult, especially across cultural and language differences. In fact it can’t be measured until it is tried, and it can’t be tried until lots of books have been published. So putting such a solution into practice has demanded a leap of faith.

Convincing the people at the grass roots is easy enough, they are living the experience. It’s a different matter to move them into action of course. To get enough books, well written, well illustrated, diverse, ranging in reading level from infant to young adult with the books for older readers full of interest and maturity yet very easy to read, this is all a big task.

Publishers can’t offer fees, only royalties, so the authors really have to be keen and patient. So what’s distinctive about an indigenous publisher like Blank Ink Press? It tries to meet people in their own places, however remote they are. It provides a community access space, maybe residential, for artists to work. It offers individual mentorship and support, helping people to find their hidden talent and then building on their strengths to help them make the best of their work, persisting over the years.

The process is also one of community development; a holistic, practical hands-on approach makes the creation and reading of books part of people’s real lives. Even successful creative people are not isolated individuals but are still part of their communities. In some cases their traditional stories and images belong to clans and in those cases the elders, the custodians, need to approve of the way in which their story is being shared.

Even if the story is an individual, original, contemporary fiction, indigenous preference is that the illustrator is from the writer’s own family or community. The circle widens, through friends, by word of mouth, by showing off the books at schools, at promotional events, at conferences, to demonstrate what is possible.

Workshops are organised in towns and remote communities, families launch books, dancers perform, good food is shared at multi-arts all-age launch events in parks and libraries. Inevitably someone’s aunty comes up afterwards and says “I’ve got a story too”. In communities that either have active indigenous languages or are struggling to revive lost languages, there are energetic people writing word books, story books, grammars that will help to give these languages a role in literacy and in life.

These are published bilingually. An indigenous publisher needs to recognise oral tradition and accept Aboriginal English and Kriols. Their visual literacy is central, the use of digital media is appropriate to reach reluctant and remote readers. In digital page turners on CD or on the internet, the reader can hear the voice of the author reading the story. This is especially useful for indigenous languages.

Such a publisher will consult the community and be answerable to the community through an indigenous reference group, but such a publisher inevitably faces the issue of how to build a sustainable business in a small niche market when the cost of labour intensive training and excellent production outstrips the income to be made from sales. One way is to survive from one funded project to another.

For example therapeutic workshops have culminated in books to help to break the cycle of family violence. These books have on one hand been exemplars of good family relationships. On the other, courageous authors have told stories around incidents of abuse or danger to encourage children to talk.

Sometimes indigenous youngsters become writers and illustrators for younger children. Workshops in schools and libraries have allowed youngsters to find their own unique stories in visual story-boards, then to complete their ‘little black books’.

As a result of publication the authors gain a new status and respect in their communities. Their families develop higher expectations of themselves. Writing and illustrating can be parts of viable career pathways. Newly published indigenous creators become encouraging mentors to others, at the same time building their own self image. Imagine with me, if every camp fire yarn were turned into a written illustrated narrative and published. If every funny story were written down, if every series of sketches on the pages of school books were turned into a cartoon with words. Just imagine if every indigenous artist who had a row of paintings on a gallery wall were to do just one series of paintings as illustrations for a children’s book. What a wealth of deep and interesting narratives could be published for their own children and young people.

Sure they would become motivated and see the relevance of the written word and really learn to read.